


(if) you were not aware of it, it was my fault

by patrokla



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M, Sadness and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 06:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9223427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrokla/pseuds/patrokla
Summary: Peter jams the 7 button on his mobile whilst trying to replay the message Carl had left him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> New year, same me! Still writing those angsty libs fics.
> 
> The title is from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's 'The Little Prince.' The idea is based on an interview Carl did around 2006 in which he mentioned leaving Peter a voicemail on New Year's, and he said that Peter hadn't called him back, but he had been so [insert emotion here] about the message that he told his friends about it. This is set around 2005/2006, the gig in Paris Peter mentions was October of 2005.
> 
> Warnings for: bit of swearing.

_"Of course I love you. If you were not aware of it, it was my fault."_

_— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince_

 

Given that:  
  
1\. Peter constantly changes his number;  
2\. Carl won’t pick up the phone if he thinks Peter’s calling (out of fear, and spite);  
3\. and Peter won’t pick up the phone if he thinks Carl’s calling (out of spite, and fear),  
  
they communicate primarily through voicemails these days.   
  
Carl had meant to maintain complete radio silence at first, the wounds too raw and bloody to even consider sending a text. But those ancient days when telling Peter something was as easy as turning his head have left him with a reflexive desire to communicate.   
  
He’d never bared his soul like Peter used to, before artifice came so naturally to him. No, Carl had just lifted the curtain occasionally. Carved little slivers of himself out and presented them, helpless to do anything else.   
  
He doesn’t know if he’d ever wanted Peter to know anything about him.   
  
—  
  
Peter jams the 7 button on his mobile whilst trying to replay the message Carl had left him. It’s short, Carl’s voice almost inaudible at first against background noise. Some sort of New Year’s party. A DJ gig, probably.  
  
Then, abruptly, the noise disappears with the slam of a door. _Anyways, I, erm. Just wanted to wish you a happy new year_. A pause, then, sardonically, _mate_. Throat clear, then a wavering rendition of Auld Lang Syne that ends fifteen seconds in. Finally, quietly, full of more sincerity than he’s heard from Carl in years, _Good - good luck, Peter_.   
  
_End of message. To replay the message, press-_  
  
—  
  
Peter’s messages to Carl inevitably have two starting tones; false cheer, or anger that verges on incoherence. Sometimes the cheer is incoherent as well, and Carl goes through phases where he cuts a message off if Peter sounds the slightest bit high. It’s hypocritical of him, he’s probably left his own voicemails sober only once, but then he’s not sober often, these days.   
  
( _Carl! Carlos, Carl Barat, thought I’d give you a ring since it’s been ages. Drew told me you were playing a gig in Paris soon - wait, no, he’s shaking his head, apparently you already did, sorry_ )  
  
( _You fucking cunt, I gave you my dreams and you just fucking_ )  
  
Everyone has their own ways of coping with the disintegration of something that was supposed to be the best thing in their life.


End file.
